


Photogenic

by AllLoveIsEqual



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Café, Gay, Love, M/M, Romance, larry - Freeform, stylinson, ziam
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-12-30
Updated: 2014-12-29
Packaged: 2018-03-04 07:40:16
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,401
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3002408
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AllLoveIsEqual/pseuds/AllLoveIsEqual
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Somewhere between a blanket of stars and a bed of grass, he realised the one thing that was keeping him from pursuing the happiness he craved so much was his physical appearance, and it was sickening to behold – so he hated himself for being this way.</p><p>Except, there’s one boy who thinks no lens, no camera, no picture can capture the beauty that stands beside him.</p><p>OR</p><p>the one where Louis hates his body is and how ugly his face is while Harry’s secretly drooling over him, taking pictures he stores in his photography folder.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Photogenic

He stares at the screen of his laptop, scrutinising the thin and shirtless male models posed provocatively to attract customers to buy the wares of this avaricious company these exploited human beings work for. He despises it: the way they have the correct balance between muscle and flesh; the way their smile and eyes seem to draw with the same intention as a succubus – all of it. Right now, staring at this screen, the words ‘be yourself’ seems to be the biggest lie he’s ever heard, for it’s not about being yourself but about being the manufactured version society creates of yourself.

If the world’s a stage, we are merely puppets and society is our puppeteer. 

With frustration and desperate intent, he quickly drags the mouse to the address bar and changes the website. While it loads, there’s a habitual gaze at the mirror on the wall opposite his bed and he quickly redirects his gaze as if he had just caught an ungodly sight. He dares not stare at the man in his reflection, for its eyes are too big and its cheeks are chubby and its jawline is so weak he feels a touch of a feather can cause it to shatter into a hundred pieces. A man who’d seem incongruous to society’s expectations and would be branded a reject on sight. His own reflection terrifies him because it’s a big wakeup call – or a slap on the cheek. 

Facebook finally loads and he finds that there’s a message waiting for him. With a tint of curiosity, he clicks onto his inbox to find a message from Niall:

‘Hey Louis. Want to catch up this morning? I’ve got until half-eleven before my lecture starts.’

Louis laughs because there’s not been one lecture or seminar so far blessed with Niall’s presence; it’s the same routine over and over again: they meet up, have coffee, Niall goes on about some bird he’s pulled and shagged while Louis casually nods his head and watches with forced interest, and then he makes some excuse – lack of sleep, headache, date – and just doesn’t attend. Sometimes Louis wonders how that boy is doing so well with the assignments and work he’s been given.

He looks back at the screen, biting his lip momentarily before responding in his trademark ‘cheek-and-sass’:

‘Oh get off it, Horan. I know by ‘lecture’ you mean ‘girl’ and by ‘starts’ you mean ‘sex’. Is it nearly time for your monthly STD check?’

It doesn’t take two seconds before Louis gets a reply.

‘Hey, you weren’t complaining when you had your mouth sucking on it when you were supposed to be studying for a test ;)’

And the trap is triggered. Louis flushes as the mentioned experience relives in his mind. Honestly, Niall knows how to show a good time, but they’ll always just be mates. Sometimes mates just get bored and they do things to stop being bored. Plus Niall was at a state of confusion, after he openly confessed to Louis he had dreams of getting off with the guy he sits by in maths, Louis felt obliged to allow Niall to test the waters. Niall didn’t have a bad time neither. Louis remembers the words Niall spoke afterwards, ‘Mate, you got to teach more girls how to suck like that. Fuck that was bloody brilliant!’

Another message pops up:

‘Don’t worry, it was much appreciated, but your mouth work is kind of getting sloppy, Lou. Kind of disappointing.’

That twat, Louis thinks, but he can’t help but love this sort of banter only Niall and him have. He quickly types out a reply:

‘Tell that to the orgasm you had, mate. Could wake the dead, man it was that loud. And sure, I’ll see you in half-an-hour.’

Louis climbs out of bed and places his laptop on top of the white sheets of his single bed. He opens the wardrobe, carefully trying not look at his reflection, and from the organised piles of clothes he has, he easily picks out a white shirt and a pair of black jeans then he removes the denim jacket hanging upon a peg on his wardrobe door and ambles back into his bed to begin to change. 

As he puts his shirt on, he reads the message Niall just sent and is suddenly baffled:

‘Sure thing, got someone for you to meet as well, brilliant lad. Bet you’d love him.’

There’s an upward shift on cherry lips as Louis recalls the other times Niall Horan has awfully played the role of Cupid, and he absentmindedly scratches on the fabric of his jeans as the memories of getting attached begins to hammer into his head with relentless assault, and he coughs out of his stoic state and looks around his bedroom. He stares at the purple walls, which supports his posters that fosters a sense of childishness due to many being from classical musicals such as Wicked, Annie, The Lion King. Those posters hold his dream: that one day, once he rids of his nightmarish body, he can live on the stage and own the spotlight. 

He never keeps and puts up photos of himself and when there is a cute group photo, he tends to cut himself out of the photo to, as Louis thinks, not taint the natural beauty of the photo. He accepts that he hasn’t got the nicest set of chestnut brown hair, and he hates the way it sweeps over his left eye, which, he thinks, are abnormally big anyway, and they are a blue of raw ice; too deep and overpowering. He understands that his body will never look like the well-built body builder or the lean but fit athletic physique.   
To basically put it, Louis believes himself to be the embodiment of Love’s repellent. Perhaps Niall only ever let him do those things because it happened during the golden days where Louis’ skin didn’t sag around his waist and his cheeks didn’t replicate that of a chipmunk, or maybe Niall was just really, really desperate for some homoerotic action. 

Louis fixes his denim jacket straight and walks into the bathroom. He gazes into the mirror and notices a small stubble forming at the tip of a well-structured chin and his sun-kissed skin illuminates brightly under the dim and dull bathroom light. He grabs a razor, wets it, and, endeavouring to stare too long at his reflection, he quickly shaves off his stubble and then continues to brush his teeth.   
The scales stored under the sink catches his eyes and a voice inside urges him to relent but it’s futile – always has been – and Louis’ constant fear of his own weight drives his hands to reach for it and pull it out. Without much thought, Louis places himself on top of it and watches with intense eyes as the numbers on the scale flicker up and down. It goes for a second or two and anticipation’s laugh echoes down his ears as he clenches his fists to stop his nerves. There’s a boom of his heart ringing in his head and the sound of blood rushing fills his mind just as the scales finally settle. 57kg. Way too much and Louis shuts his eyes as the realisation he has only lost 5kg this week shakes him. 

He looks at the clock and notices he has another fifteen-minutes before he’s meant to see Niall. Louis slides the scales back under the sink ready for another use – probably tomorrow – and quickly runs back towards his wardrobe. He thought he could finally wear his denim jacket; he thought he’d finally be the right size to pull it off… but apparently not. So he shoves it off and rummages through tidy piles of clothes, tossing and throwing, leaving them in a dishevelled heap on the floor. His eyes land on the oversized woollen jumper he owns and with utmost haste, as if the whole world was staring at his chubby stomach, he tugs it on.   
He allows himself a fleeting glance in the mirror and determines that this jumper hides away all the fat he has quite effectively, and its chequered black and dark green helps with the impression of him being more lean than he actually is. One final check and Louis thinks he’s appropriately dressed to satisfy Niall, himself, and – more importantly – Society. 

Time to see who Niall has brought along.


End file.
